After yesterday's classy post, I'm feeling a little shy today. I'm also feeling sick. My poor little baby girl gave her illness to her poor mother. I'm floating in that freaky place that you can only find in fevered dreams. I can't seem to get my temperature below 100 and it keeps creeping back up to 102.5.
Please feel bad for me. Because nobody else does. That is the bane of the stay-at-home military mother. I can't go to the doctor, because who would watch my kids. It's not like Grandma can fly in from Boston just because I feel like crap. My friends all have at least two kids of their own, so I can't foist my sick children off on them. And my husband has to fly. It's not like he can say, "Oh. Sorry about that national security thing. My wife and kids are sick."
My husband is a wonderful man in many, many ways. But when it comes to taking care of me when I'm sick, he sucks at it.
Last night, I went to bed at 7 p.m. He came home from work at about 7:05 and came in the bedroom to check on me. After I informed him in my most pathetic voice that I was "sick and have a temperature" he informed me that he was staying away from me to avoid catching anything.
Nice. Then when I asked him to get the thermometer this morning, he said, "I will if it will prove to you that you're not as sick as you think you are and you'll stop moaning." So I took my temperature and felt vindicated that it was 102.5. Hah. That will teach him to minimize my distress.
So obviously my writing is suffering from my illness. And I will shut up now and let you all get back to your much more interesting lives.